I remember the vaporizer. I used to put my hand in front of it and watch the small perfect circles of mist accumulate.

I remember the heaviness of those nights and how my Mom and Dad would eventually make the decision to take my brother to the hospital.

“He’s been hospitalized 16 times in 18 months.” I would hear my mom say sometimes.

Once a doctor shot my brother up with an injection that contained peanut oil which sent him into a severe attack.

They were digging into his arms and then into his groin with knives and needles to find a major vein to determine how much oxygen he had in his blood.

While he lay there with lips blue and crying.

My mother eventually freaked and threw the doctors out of the room and started pounding on desks and grabbing nurses and demanding they contact or wake up every specialist on the planet this minute.

Her son, my brother was suffocating.

One eventually came and shot my brother up with some adrenaline cocktail sans the peanut oil.

We dodged a bullet that day.

But not really.

The Asthma attacks continued for years.

Throughout his childhood.

Throughout our childhood.

The doctors seemed to only have three moves; Cortisone, the Inhaler, and when it got bad, Adrenaline.

Useless fucking idiots.

In later life my mother struggled with panic attacks and sever depression.

If fact we have all had bouts of some horrific chronic disease.

Today, I know why.

My 3 year old daughter gets a runny nose and I lose my mind.

How my mother and father lived through those years I will never know.

To know that because of the work and passion of Dr. Wallach, Dr. Glidden and Pharmacist Ben Fuchs my daughter will never suffer the way my family and I have suffered; to know that Asthma is not genetic; to know it is a simple nutrient deficiency; to know that my daughter will never be at the mercy of drug dealing, misinformed MD morons as long as I am alive is a feeling of such deep gratitude, words can’t describe, really.